


tickets to the gun show

by elisela



Series: what's your emergency? [2]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Fluff and Humor, I wrote this while I was drunk and there's really no excuse for it, M/M, but who wouldn't thirst over those biceps okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: “Scotty, this is anemergency,” Stiles hisses into his phone, ducking around the back of the ambulance and whimpering as his back hits the warm metal. “He’sarm wrestling.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Series: what's your emergency? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051928
Comments: 6
Kudos: 304





	tickets to the gun show

**Author's Note:**

> flo: look I know I’m taking advantage of you drinking right now BUT. IF YOUR NEXT TEEN WOLF 911 CROSSOVER FIC DOESNT INCLUDE BUCK AND DEREK ARM WRESTLING
> 
> Half an hour later--

“Scotty, this is an _emergency_ ,” Stiles hisses into his phone, ducking around the back of the ambulance and whimpering as his back hits the warm metal. “He’s _arm wrestling._ ”

“Thought you got over the whole swooning over Derek thing around your third anniversary,” Scott says, sounding distracted. Stiles wouldn’t normally care—he talks to Scott at least three times a day—but. _Emergency_. He thought he’d been pretty clear about that.

“He’s arm wrestling the pretty blond one!” Stiles snaps. “The one with the eyes and the biceps that could—” there’s a loud smack and a cheer goes up, and Stiles peeks around the side of the rig to see Derek glaring over at him and Buck accepting a high five from Eddie. “Uh, gotta go buddy, turns out Derek could definitely hear that and now I need to turn on the charm and promise him the world’s best blow job later.”

“God, _Stiles_ ,” Scott whines, and then the line goes dead.

He takes a deep breath and slides out from behind the rig, letting his hand fall rest against the butt of the gun on his belt, giving Derek his sunniest smile. He’s so dead. Derek’s going to kill him. Torture him first, probably, but definitely kill him. “Hey babe, babe’s coworkers,” he says, stretching out the greeting. “Uh, so, friendly competition, huh? Best two out of three? Doesn’t seem fair that I missed it.”

Buck beams up at him and falls back into the chair he was previously half out of. “Officer,” he says, smirking, “came to see the gun show?”

Behind him, someone groans, but Stiles just laughs. “I‘d handle those weapons—oof,” he grunts, dropping into Derek’s lap and looking back at him with a glare. “Paws off, you brute,” he says, and adds, “you can’t blame me, you know pretty and blond is my type.”

Derek lifts an eyebrow at him. “And here I thought it was happy and married,” he says drily, arms tightening around Stiles’ stomach. “My mistake.”

He pats Derek’s arm, stretches back to kiss his cheek, and slides back onto his feet. “So? Rematch?” He aims his look towards Buck, who looks only too happy to oblige, propping his arm up on the table eagerly. 

Derek grabs him again and pulls him in, pressing a kiss to his cheek before whispering “no distracting me this time” in his ear. He looks across the table and Stiles flat out shivers at the predatory grin that takes over Derek’s face as he looks at Buck. 

He flops down next to Eddie, leans forward slightly, and slaps the table. “Alright boys, let’s see which set of biceps will star in my dreams tonight.” 

Buck’s cheeks flush, but Derek just rolls his eyes as he sets his arm on the table. “Shut up, Stiles,” he says, and his voice may sound gruff but Stiles hears the fondness underneath. 

“My money’s on Buck,” Eddie says, and there’s an outbreak of chatter behind him as small bets are placed. 

Stiles leans into him, smirking. “As much as I’m looking forward to seeing the strain against that uniform, Derek’s gonna win.” He glances over for a moment, watching the way Eddie’s eyes trail over Derek—who isn’t even pretending to exert himself, the asshole—and sits up straighter. “Like what you see?”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, and _seriously_ , Stiles is going to have to spend the weekend reteaching him how to act like a human. 

“Because I like what _I_ see,” he goes on, wagging his eyebrows at jerking his chin towards Buck. Derek lets out an irritated noise and slams Buck’s arm down with a twitch of his wrist, and the next thing Stiles knows, he’s being bodily pulled through the station until they reach a little alcove. “Hey there, big guy,” he says, winding his hands behind Derek’s neck, and Derek snorts. 

“You’re a menace,” he says, crowding Stiles against the wall and rubbing his cheek against his neck, fingers flexing into Stiles’ hips.

“A lovable menace?” he asks, scratching his nails into Derek’s hair. 

He feels Derek’s smile against him. “Jury’s out on that one,” he says, “depends on just which set of biceps you’ll be thinking about tonight.”

“Always yours,” he says, pulling gently at Derek’s hair before pushing him back down against his neck. “Unless you think Buck wants to—”

“Shut _up_ , Stiles,” Derek groans, and Stiles laughs as he pats his head. 

“Always yours,” he says again. “Pretty and blond might have muscles on his muscles, but it’s nothing compared to happy and married.”

**Author's Note:**

> Show me a person who doesn't thirst over Oliver Stark's biceps and I will set them up an appointment with the eye doctor okay it's just not done.


End file.
